Worst chore ever? Putting away clean laundry. I don’t know why, but it daunts me every time. It gets washed as normal, as soon as it needs doing, but once it’s either stretched out on the clothes-horse or hauled out and untangled from the tumble-dryer, putting it away just seems so pointless. I’m only going to be wearing it all again in a minute, aren’t I? The reason it got washed so promptly was because I needed it, right?
So once again have the most recurring problem in our house: a full laundry-bin plus the number of clean items from the last wash put away = 0. Most days I saunter down to the kitchen and pull something stiffened into dryness onto my still sleeping body. But it’s not that simple. It doesn’t all get left to dry into shapes it can stand up in, like odd animated characters (although most of it does). Some of it gets about halfway to being draped on a hanger or stacked neatly in a drawer. Either myself or the fiancé- whoever gets there first - will do some token folding. Everything gets folded, really neatly (especially if he does it), and then left somewhere it’s not supposed to be. Like the blanket-box at the end of the bed. Or, my favourite, on top of the freezer.
I’m not a good folder. The item has a far stronger chance of making it to being worn wrinkle-free if I don’t touch it. So maybe it’s fear that makes me leave well enough alone: fear of looking even more scruffy than I already do. When you have hair as frizzy as mine, you’ve got to get your smoothness elsewhere. If I didn’t have smooth clothes, I’d be mistaken for a dust-bunny everywhere I went. In a way, I already am.
But at least I make a mean curry, which the fiancé is currently tucking into – for breakfast. He’s not even hungover.
You’re right. We’ve GOT to get a system.
There’s still a chance to sponsor me (retrospectively) for the NYC Marathon for the Alzheimer’s Society. Please give what you can here.
